


Montana

by morgan_cian



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_cian/pseuds/morgan_cian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dystopian world, one man carves out his living on the land. Protects his own, as well as his secrets, until one newcomer changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Montana

An old rusted truck kicked up dust as Montana Brewer enjoyed his evening cigarette. One of the few luxuries he allowed himself since carving out this small empire way away from the city, with its lights, and sins, pleasures and faults.

He let the slow burn fill his lungs before exhaling.

“Howdy, Montana,” Old Doc Monroe called, rolling down the glass pane window.

Montana crossed his arms, flicking the ash of his cig, and dipping his hat to the Doctor who got of the truck on trembling legs and a cane.

The white head nodded to the bed of his truck and it was then that Montana realized the normally empty cage was inhabited. 

“Found him skulking around the edge of your property while I was with Dew, checking Rowdy’s hooves. Nothing cracked by the way, just needed fresh salve.”

Montana did not move, just cocked his head and caught sight of big green eyes through the metal, dirty hands and not much else. His guts cramped but he shut it down ruthlessly. Stamping out the cigarette under his boot heel, he half listened to Doc as he ambled to the back of the truck. 

Time moved slower out in the country than it did in the city. He had all the time in the world, the kid in the cage was not going anywhere fast.

“Collared but not registered,” Doc carried on.

He got a better look when he lowered the truck’s tailgate. A boy, no doubt by what hung between naked thighs, dirt caked ragged nails, and so thin Montana could count the ribs protruding through sallow skin.

“I’ll just carry him on into my office in town…”

“No,” Montana gauged the weight of the boy and the cage, “My property, my problem.”

“You don’t have to, Cowboy,” Doc said gently.

Montana hefted the cage out up and out of the truck bed, ignoring the Doc’s low, impressed whistle.

“If there is a price on his head?”

“I’ll pay it or return the runt to his owner,” Montana gritted out. “Don’t want no trouble pokin’ around here.”

“Will do, Cowboy,” Doc grunted as he sat back down on the bench seat and used his hands to lift his legs into the foot well, the cane followed and door squealed on its hinges as it swung shut. “Should know something before sundown.”

Montana watched until the dust cloud dissipated. He could hear the boy’s breathing. Shallow, fast, with a wet hiccup to disrupt the rhythm.

Fuck.

The handle was becoming slick in his palm, the humidity making his shirt cling to his back. Patting his breast pocket with his free hand, he carried the cage into the mudroom off the kitchen. Kicking off his boots, his feet whispered on scarred hardwood used throughout his home.

“Montana?”

He sighed, sitting the cage at his feet. Doe Eyes kept his head down, dark hair hiding his face. The boy could say a million words with one question.

Who is he? Why is he here? Are you going to keep him? Are you going to get rid of me?

He held out an arm and Doe Eyes stepped in against him. Did not wrap his arms about his waist or lift his mouth in a coy display, a beg for a kiss with the flirt of pretty eyes. Just stood against him, arms at his side, his nose pressed against the damp plaid shirt.

“Find Dani, Doe Eyes, and get him cleaned up.”

The boy nodded, and froze for heart beat, slender fingers clutching the plain black leather band around his throat. The pewter registration tag jangled in the quiet room against the silver ring.

“Go on, now.”

Bare, narrow feet scurried away, leaving Montana alone in his kitchen with wide, green eyes staring out him.

His package of cigarettes was crumpled and empty as he fished it out of his breast pocket. Disposing of it and opening the cold unit, he pulled out a beer. His stash of extra cigs had been moved again. Dani’s work, not Doe Eyes.

Taking a swig of bracing bitterness, cold and hops, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

Facing the green eyes head on, the familiar fear tugged at his guts once more.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

*~*

Green eyes did not have an answer for him. Did not expect one really though the way the kid peeled his lips back as if to bite was interesting.

Doe Eyes did as bidden, quiet as always, vulnerable in nothing but cut off denim shorts and one of Montana’s long sleeved shirts. The size of it swamps the boy’s slender frame, the sleeves covering his hands.

Dani was much more brash, bright red hair pulled into pig tails meant to make her look younger, the bodice of her dark purple sundress designed to draw the eye to her lush breasts. The same plain collar of black encircled her neck. Only the eyes don’t lie, in either age or experience. She could pull off fake but her dark brown eyes with fine lines told the harsh truth.

“What have we got here, another pet?”

Doe Eyes flinched at her words. As she knew he would, he ground his teeth. Montana never fell for her bait. He only wished Doe Eyes would learn.

“He stinks. Give him a bath.”

Doe Eyes “yes sir” with Dani’s louder snort of annoyance.

Before they could lift the cage between them, he knelt down, ass over his heels. Some lessons are never forgotten.

“The only thing between you and the police pen, is us, ya here?” Montana demanded.

Green eyes seemed to understand. His chin tucked to his chest, dirty matted hair falling over his shoulders as he nodded. Standing again, Montana turned his back as Dani and Doe Eyes managed the cage in halting steps down the hall.

Catching a glimpse of wadded cardboard, Montana crossed over to the cupboard and fished out his cigarettes. Lighting up, he wondered how long it would take Doc to get back to him. Feeling sweaty and ill at ease, he made the same path down the hall.

Stopping to listen at the closed door of the bathing room, silence except Dani’s scathing displeasure. That was to be expected.

Closing himself within his own rooms, he locked the door. Pressed his forehead against the wood, waiting to his breathing settled.

His bathroom was just off to the side. The water hissed on, hot and furious. Steam building, much like the humidity outside. He turned too soon. He could see himself in the mirror. 

The breadth of his shoulders, wider now than then, the cut of his muscles lean and hard. Unwillingly his hand went to his throat, bare but for the tattoos on each side of his neck, leading down to his shoulders, across his back.

Those needles had been a bitch. But did the job, no one would ever know.

Dropping his hands to his side, he stepped under the harsh spray. Scrubbing the sweat and dirt from his body perfunctorily. He took his cock into his hand, half hard already and took care of that as well.

He would not need that distraction for the long night ahead.

*~*

Pulling old denims over his hips, he left the buttons for later. He may have to shuck them if Dani and Doe Eyes were having problems with the kid. Scratching his belly, Montana hesitated only to growl in frustration.

He threaded the slender bars through his nipples.

It is his house, no one to see, no one to judge. Not Dani or Doe Eyes and certainly not the unwanted guest.

The bathing room was a mess of puddles and discarded towels, Dani nowhere to be seen. Doe Eyes sat behind the green eyed boy, carefully combing through long wet hair. Honey blonde now that it was clean. 

The boy’s shoulders were slumped forward, the scars easily to see on his back, thin whip marks and remnants of past canings. The rich forget the simplest rules when they placed no value on their toys. 

The kid looked up sharply, causing Doe Eyes to startle, the comb trembled in his hand. Montana merely held out an arm that the dark haired boy responded to so well. In nothing but damp cut offs and his collar only, Doe Eyes’ arm slid about Montana’s hips, his free hand going to the nipple bar like a homing beacon as Montana knew it would.

Rubbing his lips across soft dark hair, he let his hand cup Doe Eyes’ bottom briefly, feeling the waft of gentle sigh across his skin.

“Go find Dani, Doe Eyes, make sure she puts supper on the table.” He pushed the boy back gently, letting his finger touch the dip in Doe Eye’s chin. “Me and the kid will clean up here. Go on, now.” The last words were accompanied with a gentle pat to the boy’s ass sending him to the door of the chamber. Doe Eyes paused just for a moment before ducking back into the corridor.

“You made a mess.” He folded his arms over his chest. Green eyes took in the way his muscles moved and bunched. Taking his measure quickly and ducking his chin. Montana figured the kid was smart, understanding that Montana could break him with little effort.

He also had a smattering of freckles across his nose, huh.

“You’ll earn your keep, starting here and now.”

The boy jerked as if slapped before his body, too thin to be appealing, slid sensuously to the floor. Montana watched as he crawled across the floor, making sure to sway boney hips. At Montana’s bare feet, he knelt up. Shaking hands lifting to the waistband of denim barely holding on to Montana’s own hips, the waft of warm breath fanning over skin.

Filling his hand with damp hair, Montana pulled his head back, firmly but not to hurt.

Not yet anyway.

“By cleaning up the bathing room,” He clarified and watched the green eyes narrow briefly. “What is your name?”

Why the fuck are you here? How did you even find my ranch? What kind of trouble are you going to bring?

The boy bit down hard on his full bottom lip. Montana could see the thoughts racing through his mind and decided to clarify even more.

“Don’t get off on the wrong foot by lying, kid. It’ll only be worse for you.”

The threat hung in the air. Montana figured the kid could supply many scenarios of what worse could be by the scars on his back.

“Mercy.”

So the kid had been a pet for sure, by that name. No doubt some rich dumb fuck thought it would be funny to name the boy for the way he would need to scream.

He pointed to laundry chute and the cleaning supplies. “Once you are done, follow the hall and take the last left.”

There was not much damage Mercy could do in the bathing room. Unless it was to drown himself. Montana castigated himself as a sick fuck in his own right for the brief wishful hope before stamping it down.

*~*

A platter of rolls sat by a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes, Doe Eyes placed the pitcher of cold milk on the table. Montana squeezed the back of his neck and sat at the head of the table. Dani brought ears of buttered corn and raw carrots to round out the simple meal.

“Doc left a message on the comm,” She cupped her chin in her hand. All less than subtle attempts to draw the eye to her assets that Montana ignored. 

For now.

“Said it would be morning before he had a more detailed report.”

Not surprising, Montana thought, biting into a carrot. The outlands had tech but in limited use. Luxuries were meant for the cities and the wealthy.

“Don’t just stand there,” He called nonchalantly. Bare feet padded on wooden floors. Doe Eyes helpfully pulled out the chair beside him. “Plenty enough to eat. Looks like you could use it.” Mercy sat down gingerly.

Another problem to worry about it.

Motioning with his glass of milk, Montana made the introductions. “Dani, Doe Eyes, Mercy.” The green eyes were staring longingly at the mounds of food until Doe Eyes nudged him with a soft “it’s okay.” Dani’s laughter was a harsh counter point.

“Name’s Montana,” He tacked on at the end, shoveling in a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

*~*

Bedding arrangements for the night went off without a hitch. The ranch house was fairly big. Probably belonged to a wealthy rancher before the world went sideways and backwards. Montana’s lips twitched at being a fucked up poet.

Mercy had paused at the door of the guest room before ducking in among the shadows.

The house had many bedrooms along with a slave hall that was mostly abandoned. It had been just him, Dani, and Doe Eyes from the very beginning. Taking sweat and blood to make the run down ranch house livable again, and then bartering for work horses and seed. The gardens were pitiful at first but now grain grew as well as hearty vegetables.

Some talents never grew old and the price of horses and seed came at a quick suck or longer fuck in the beginning. Far away from the ranch so that the wrong impressions were not made.

Now Montana was known as reputable dealer in horse flesh. He had two large stables, along with the wheat fields. The bunkhouse held room for six to eight migrant workers at a time. The house was Dani's domain for the most part and Doe Eyes spent as much time outdoors as he could tend the ever growing vegetable gardens.

Sighing, he turned on his side. His bed was big enough for him and could sleep two decently. Rolling up his pillow, he watched the sway of sheer curtains that Dani favored and soft moonlight. He was not thinking about Mercy and what troubles were coming along with him. That was not what was keeping him awake.

He could win the arguments within his own mind.

His door opened slowly, not unexpected. Slender feet whispered, until a slim naked body was pressed against his, small hand finding its way to his nipple, thumbing the bar that he had forgotten to take out.

Fisting long dark hair, Montana kissed Doe Eyes easily. The scent made him lick into the pliant mouth and then lift his head.

"Please," Doe Eyes muttered, looking away in shame.

With a gentle hand, his thumb pressing into the shallow dip of Doe Eyes' chin, Montana made the boy look at him.

"Did you say no?"

"Mas, Ma, Montana, please," Doe Eyes pleaded, flinching under Montana's touch at the word that almost slipped from unwillingly lips.

"Did you?" Montana kept his voice quiet but firm.

"She did not listen." The words came out in a rush, Doe Eyes’ forehead thumping against his shoulder as he hid his face again.

Montana looked to the ceiling for its silent guidance as he stroked Doe Eyes’ long hair, praising over and over, “Good boy, such a good boy.” Eventually the boy calmed and found his original purpose for seeking out Montana’s bed.

A hard slender cock sliding into the cut of hip, the slow cant upward of pleading thrusts. Montana gripped Doe Eyes by the shoulders as he turned onto his back, seating him onto his thighs, palms soothing up and down the spine to finally rest on the curve of buttocks.

Doe Eyes bit his bottom lip, lowering his chin so that he could look up beneath the fringe of bangs and fluttering eyelashes. A practiced move, one that the boy felt more confidence in.

The tricks and trappings of sexual pet, some lessons are never forgotten.

Deft fingers explored the damp crease, slicked with oil, the opening prepared, soft and ready.

“A real good boy,” Montana murmured, gently pressing his thumb against the furl of muscle. “Is that what you want, Doe Eyes? Ride me; fill that pretty hole, hmmmm?”

Doe Eyes smiled a pretty smile if it only it were real instead of pointless expectancy. As he knelt up, Montana caught him. It jarred the boy’s rhythm, the chewing of his lip and the furrow of his brow much more honest in his confusion.

“Is that what you want?”

Trembling, Doe Eyes pleaded wordlessly. Montana sighed. “You just have to ask, hell, demand it and I will give it, boy.”

“Please…”

“No,” Wrapping his arm about shaking shoulders, Montana drew him down with soft kisses and words of affirmation even if he denied the standard operating procedure of a slave, a trained slut, an unpaid whore. “No begging, boy, just ask.”

“Fuck me?” The hitch in his voice was still confusion rather than a question of want, or a demand of need. 

As Montana helped hold him steady, Doe Eyes reached behind him and guided Montana’s cock into his ready opening with a slight sob for the burn and then a contented sigh as he settled on Montana’s hips.

Letting him ride, Montana found pleasure in soft skin, friction to his cock, and sweet kisses. His own fingers sought out the leather around Doe Eyes’ throat, feeling the reflexive clutch of the boy’s body. Doe Eyes purred a pleased rumble in his chest as Montana’s tugged at the ring of his collar.

“Put your hand on your cock.”

“Fuck.”

“Like that, don’t you dare move.”

Pleasure built as Doe Eyes rode him, swollen red cock slip sliding through a small curled fist, Doe Eyes getting his pleasure through the rhythm of Montana’s thrusts.

He changed the angle by gripping the spur of hipbones, fingertips bruising the thin skin. Doe Eyes squeezed his eyes shut, trying to slow the inevitable.

“Come, damn it, come, boy.”

Thick ropes splattered across Montana’s tense abdomen, up on his chest. His hips faltered, until he pulled Doe Eyes down hard, digging his heels into the mattress and thrusting up into the fluttering vise of muscle.

Panting, he drew the shivering boy down to his side. Montana watched through hooded eyes as Doe Eyes found the cache of tissues on his bedside table and cleaned them both up, some improvement made.

In the beginning, Doe Eyes would cry silent tears if Montana would not allow him to use his mouth to clean away spent seed.

Doe Eyes settled into the curve of his arm. The tag of his collar warmed to the heat of Montana’s body. Slender fingers sought out the nipple bar and a gentle gust of breath signaled the boy finding some type of rest curled up against his side.

Montana pulled the boy’s knee until it was caught between his thighs and his hand rested low on Doe Eyes’ ass.

He would deal with Dani first thing in the morning.

*~*

Morning for Montana started early. The world was still the haze of purple twilight and the press of sleep warm skin. Kissing Doe Eyes’ slack mouth, he got out of bed. He took a cool shower to wake him up, denims, boots, and an unbuttoned plaid shirt and he was ready to face the day.

Somewhat.

Dani’s domain was the house proper, including its kitchen. She could make a gallon of sweet tea that went down nice on a scorcher of a day. But she knew shit for beans when it came to a good cup of a coffee. She didn’t like the taste of it anyway if cups of pale muddy water were anything to go by.

He picked his battles. Looking down at Doe Eyes curled around his pillow peacefully stiffened his resolve.

But first, he was ghost silent as he made his way through the dark ranch house. It was too early for Dani to be stirring and there were no sounds coming out of Mercy’s temporary space. 

The morning air was cool and bracing, enough so he took time to fill his lungs with untainted air. It was fresh, unlike the pungent stew of the cities. When he opened the bunkhouse, the rich aroma of brewed bean made him inhale again.

Dew handed him a cup. Jag was still snoring. Pole and Dandy were filling their canteens and wrapping up their sandwiches for the day.

“You wantin’ any bacon, Boss?” Dew slurped noisily from his own cup.

“Naw,” He answered easily. In the bunkhouse, life was easy. Eat, sleep, shit, and the job. Horses to be worked and tended to, fences needed mending and fields to plant or cultivate. Life here was good. “I’m good.”

The thought of Doe Eyes, Dani, and Mercy brought on a tension headache that the sweet jittery pulse of caffeine could not sooth.

“Po man Ernie said his bitch had a lit. You wantin’ any?”

Montana scrubbed his chin, “Ya’ll know anything about training a hound?”

Dew’s thumbs tucked into the pockets of his faded denims. “I don’t. But Jag said his folks had dogs they sold and Dandy wouldn’t mind the company while out on the lower forties.”

“Will do,” Montana finished cup, doffing a sloppy salute. “No more than two, don’t want any bitches either. Won’t have the town’s dogs sniffing around my land.”

“Got it, Boss.”

“Meet you before the sun’s completely up, Pole.” The weathered man chewed a dip of tobacco and nodded on his way out of the bunkhouse.

Montana’s day had not started completely. He had some supplies to gather before returning to the main house.

Dani.

*~*

He found her on what she liked to call her sunroom, an old porch that Montana had spent way too much effort enclosing in precious glass. Her dark red hair was pulled up in a messy bun, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, faded and worn soft, reaching the tops of her slender thighs.

As her want, she would be soft and bare beneath the cotton.

Made things easier for him.

“Dani.”

She flinched but didn’t turn and face him. One arm crossed to her hip, the other lifted so that she could finger the band of black leather around her slim throat.

“He said no.”

Her only acknowledgement was to stiffen her shoulders.

“I know what you are doing, sweetheart. Ignoring Doe Eyes, hiding my cigarettes, your sweet ass is craving the paddle or the cane, am I right?”

“He didn’t say ‘no’.” Her words were almost spat, dripping in venom. However, her shoulders were not so proud. The hunch in them was her tell.

They all had tells, begging without words.

“He said, ‘don’t stop’.”

Montana pressed up behind her, hands slipping beneath her shirt, soft touches to the gentle curve of her belly. The hiss of breathe another tell, agitation.

We don’t always get what we want, sweetheart, he thought darkly.

“How could he say don’t stop, if you had his mouth on you, eating you out?”

“He licks cunt better than a woman.”

His hands kept their gentle motion, dipping over her hairless slit, down to her soft inner thighs. She pressed them together stopping him.

“And my cigarettes?”

“That shit stinks.”

“So you are admitting it, aren’t you, baby girl. You want to be whipped raw and punished.”

Her head dipped forward, the red of her hair brushing against sharp cheekbone.

“He said don’t when you pushed him to his knees. He said stop when you pulled him by his hair. You took wasn’t yours.” He cupped her smooth ass cheek, “Acting out like a pampered spoiled pet.”

She gave weight to his words by hissing like a wet cat. His free hand banded about her throat, covering the collar with its heavy pewter tag, keeping her still.

“Fuck, Dani,” He growled, “All you have to do is ask, damn it to hell.”

Shoving her up against the rough hewn wall, he stripped her of her shirt. She did not fight him. Her body went pliant, arching her back, and presenting her naked ass.

“You wish, baby girl.” The metal cuffs snapped into place. “Turn around, girl.”

She fisted her hands before whirling around, lifting her chin proudly, and dark eyes snapping arrogant fire. Until she caught sight of what was dangling from his hand.

“Montana, no,” her normally husky voice was tight with panic.

“Open up, you’ll only make it worse if you don’t.” He patted the other item dangling from the belt loop of his denims. "You aren't the only one who can ignore the word no."

Shaking, she squeezed her shut and opened her mouth to let the wide ball press into her teeth. Montana ignored the silent tears dripping from her cheeks. He was careful not to get her hair caught up as he buckled the strap tightly.

“Maybe you’ll listen if you are damn near helpless.” Montana had to bite back his snarl, tossing the bit gag at her feet. Pressing up against her, her soft breasts nudged against his chest. Against her ear, his voice was just as pain filled and hoarse. “All you have to do is fucking ask, baby. Don’t act out against Doe Eyes or me. Just say what you want.”

Turning away from her so that he could not hear her sobs or see her tears that tore him up, he stomped out of her sun room.

Doe Eyes had Mercy’s hand in his own, wide eyed and worried.

“Breakfast, Doe Eyes,” He nearly winced at his spat out command.

Doe Eyes just nodded vigorously, dragging Mercy along with him to the kitchen.

Montana could feel the weight of curious green eyes.

*~*

 

True to his word, the sun had just appeared on the horizon when Montana found Pole elbow deep in old broken down tractor. There were no replacement parts to be had, no newer models that were being produced, and what could be purchased there were no goods that could barter down the price.

Make do or do it yourself.

Pole spat a wad of tobacco juice before lipping the masticated leaf into his cheek. “Think I can weld a new bit for here. Still not sure what we gonna do for power.”

Montana studied the inner workings of ancient machinery. “Think the horses can pull it?”

Scratching his chin, Pole considered his words. “Not them fancy ones you have, gonna need a set of butt ugly work horses. More muscle.”

“And more grain to feed them?”

“That too.”

The fields stretched out past the row of wooden fence. “More money in wheat for food,” Montana kicked the rotted tire, “Folks always hungry.”

“Ain’t that the truth, specially them city folk too damn good to get their own hands dirty.” Pole spat another juicy wad.

Rubbing the tattoos on the sides of his neck, he muttered, “Oh they get their hands dirty, some stains don’t wash away clean.” Ambling over to the tool shed, Montana drew out the wicked sharp scythe. “Keep at it, get Dew a list of what you’ll need. See if I can find it in town, hell, the city if it comes to it.”

“Will do, Boss.”

Scything was a blessing and a curse. Slow, sure steady strokes leaving behind felled stalks, Montana’s muscles protested until the pain bled into rhythm. Jag joined him with the second scythe. Dew and Dandy caught up with the slow moving wagon pulled by Rowdy’s get Piss Ant. Montana snorted at the named blessed by Pole when the colt had sprayed him with urine.

That was the blessing, good honest work. 

The curse was a mind dulled by routine, side to side, and the sun baking down on his shoulders.

Stay out of the sun, Lady Bergoth prefers pale skin that reddens so nicely under her whip.

That’s right, boy, bend over and display like the mindless slut you are.

Harder, harder, fuck me harder or I’ll beat you senseless.

I’m dying.

About your ownership registration….

“Boss.”

Montana jerked and flailed with the scythe slipping in his sweat wet palms. His lips peeled back in a snarl to berate Jag and his stupidity. The pockmarked face paled as the youth jumped back a couple of steps with his palms up in apology.

“The boys are stoppin’ fer lunch, Dew wanted to know if you’d be joinin’ in?”

The scythe stuck deep in the dirt when Montana let it slide down in his grip. Dew and Pole were both watching curiously. Dandy was half way through one sandwich and rustling for a second.

“I’ll be at the house. No more wheat, get it to the barns. Horses for the afternoon, Jag. Make sure Dandy and Dew get a look at the fences that need to be mended.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Pulling off his wide brimmed hat, Montana wiped away sweat and useless memories with the back of his arm.

*~*

Doe Eyes was sitting with his legs under him as he brushed out Dani’s long red hair. Her eyes were still swollen but her hands no longer pulled at the metal cuffs. Mercy knelt just past the faded couch as if he were hiding.

“Lunch?”

Doe Eyes smiled shyly as he gave Dani’s bare shoulder a squeeze. “Dani helped. Squash and onions, cabbage, and dried strawberries for after.”

He could not keep from responding to that sweet smile. Holding out his hand, Doe Eyes flew into his arms.

“Mercy?”

Doe Eyes kept still as Montana considered their guest. And finally the boy in his arms stuttered out, “He, uh, watched?”

Green eyes narrowed but wisely Mercy kept his mouth shut. Like Montana would trust him with anything sharp. Maybe never would.

“Dani?” She lifted her sorrowful eyes. “Show the kid where the plates are. Me and Doe will be back in a few.”

He curled his hand around slender fingers and felt as warm on the inside as his sweaty outside as that smile, just as shy, was added to blushing cheeks.

Doe Eyes preceded him into the bath, turning on the shower. Montana pressed up behind him, opening the button on his denim cutoffs. Pushed them until the slid past slim hips to pool over narrow bare feet.

With deft hands and a dollop of liquid soap, he took the boy’s erection in hand. Stroking up and down, cupping the heavy, hairless balls beneath. Unlike the sweat he worked up out in the fields, Doe Eyes smelled sweet and clean and Montana had to have a taste of his sensitive nape, the place just beneath his ear. Doe Eyes moaned, catching the opening of the shower for balance.

“That’s it boy,” Montana growled, hooking his chin over Doe Eyes’ shoulder. Watched hungrily as the swollen wet flesh slid through his fingers, dripping and red. He let his fingers drip behind the tight sac to the thin skin that caused Doe Eyes to writhe and push back into Montana’s groin.

“Want me to stop?”

Doe Eyes squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head furiously.

“Want to come?”

Sharp white teeth bit into a full wanton lower lip.

“Say it, boy. Tell me what you want.”

Doe Eyes’ breath hitched but the boy stayed stubbornly quiet.

Montana thrust against him in agitation, his own denim clad cock hard and aching. Lessons still were not reaching through.

“I’ll fuck your mouth, boy.” He purred seductively. Liquid pearled heavily at the tip of the boy’s cock. “Come so hard, you’ll gag, throat’ll be stretched and raw.”

“Montana,” Doe Eyes choked out, pleading.

“Just say it, pretty little slut. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give you what you need. My cock raping your face.”

He struggled with his control, Doe Eyes going up onto his tip toes, body shaking with need.

“I wanna come,” Doe Eyes howled, breaking heart and painful pleasure.

Sliding his finger into the dripping slit, Montana praised, “Good boy, such a pretty boy. Learning, ‘m proud of you.”

Doe Eyes struggled, thrusting into Montana’s curled fist. He took pity on him, using a slick finger to press into the tight opening and twisting his fingers around the crown of Doe Eyes’ cock.

“Master!” The yelp distracted Montana from the thick come spilling over his fist.

Making sure that Doe Eyes was steady on his feet, Montana turned from him, equal parts sad and angry as he jerked off his shirt, smearing seed on the sleeve. Shaking hands that could be blamed on being sated but Montana knew better slipped around him to the button of his denims. Doe Eyes rested his cheek against his shoulder, warm breath gusting across Montana’s too tight skin. The nerves were the apology as the zip was pulled down, to be followed by his denims sliding down his legs.

Doe Eyes would actually babble words of begging forgiveness but that habit was slowly weaned away. Montana got in beneath the stinging spray first, the offered hand the wordless acceptance of apology for the word he detested to the marrow of his bones.

Despite the leather bands resting on both Doe Eyes and Dani’s throats.

Montana washed the boy with a gentle reverence because he still had to pay the piper and Doe Eyes his due. And fuck all, the lowering of slender limbs into a graceful kneel had his flagging erection hardening once more.

Sucking in a breath to steady himself, taking Doe Eyes by the ears and cheekbones, Montana did not give him time for pretty gestures or standard foreplay.

He rammed his cock into the waiting gaping mouth. Closing his eyes to deny the visual of what he was doing. The raining water muting the sounds of wet gagging and slurping suction. Hard, violent thrusts to castigate himself and reward Doe Eyes for giving voice to his want.

Absolution and damnation in the anointing of thick wet come in a supplicant’s mouth, the debauched angel with swollen lips and peaceful dark eyes.

Montana felt weak and hollowed out, allowing Doe Eyes to dry his skin and find a clean pair of denims. The boy looked good in his button up shirt hanging low on his thighs. It was Doe Eyes that took his hand and led him back to the kitchen for his dinner.

Only to be faced with Dani’s dejected, apologetic gaze and glistening saliva dripping from her mouth. They were waiting to eat. Mercy, Montana was sure did not know that it was okay to heap his plate and eat his fill by the looks of his painfully thin body.

And Dani bound, kneeling, and waiting to be forgiven in manacles and ball gag.

Montana kissed Doe Eyes’ forehead and sent him on with a pat to his ass. He took his seat at the head of the wooden table with mismatched chairs. Lifted his girl onto his lap with the same kiss to her warm forehead.

A heaping plate was sat before him, enough to feed two, along with one fork. And Doe Eyes giving him a look of content and understanding. 

Careful not to catch and pull her hair, Montana unbuckled the gag and gently pried it out between her teeth. He let it fall to the floor, discarded and ignored. A second kiss to Dani’s mouth and then a cough to signal it was time to eat.

Mercy took it all in with cool green eyes and a hesitant hand on his own utensil. Doe Eyes patted that hand and began with the bright yellow squash. Dani preferred the boiled cabbage. Montana fed her bite after bite, lifting the iced tea for her to drink slowly. 

He merely pushed his own portion of the food around on his plate, unable to eat with the lead weight of guilt in his gut.

Dani regained more of her composure by the time he offered her the strawberries. She suckled his fingers and nipped teasingly. When she had her fill, he pushed the bowl aside.

Undoing the manacles, Montana was careful with her arms. Rubbing each from shoulder to wrist, gauging the winces as blood flowed back into Dani’s extremities. Then she flung them around his shoulders, burying her face into his neck.

As with her arms, Montana kept a soothing hand tracking up and down her back until Dani regained her composure. She was just as graceful as Doe Eyes kneeling in the bath when she stood naked at his side. It was Doe Eyes that offered her a simple sun dress that she favored wearing.

Once dressed, Dani was awkward when she hugged Doe Eyes. The boy only sighed and went pliant in her embrace, arms wrapping tightly about her hips.

Montana took it as a cue that all was right in his little household once more. Despite the neglect in dealing with Mercy. If he had a choice, the horses and his fields won hands down.

He was just seeking out his boots in the mud room when the ancient comm system squawked and warbled.

“Montana?” Dani’s husky, unused voice called out. “You got a message from Doc.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to steady himself.

“The subject line is marked urgent.”

Well, shit.

*~*

The call of the stables was like a siren and Montana had to resist. Sitting at the table, the dishes cleared away by a silent Dani and Doe Eyes.

Mercy sat at the opposite end, the chair seemed too large. If a kid almost in his twenties could pull his feet up to rest on the edge of chair near his butt, long lanky arms wrapped about them? Yeah, he was way too skinny. Brave or stupid, he couldn’t really decide by the bored look Mercy seemed to perfect with his big green eyes.

Rubbing his temples, Montana needed a beer. Shit, high priced whiskey that the rich could bathe in would be better. Maybe its burn would settle the writhing in his guts.

Maybe.

According to Doc’s lengthy message that sputtered and hiccupped on the view screen: Mercy was registered as a runaway slave but the owners didn’t want him back, marked his registration with “free to compensate at the lowest market value.”

Translation: Slavers and pimp gangs had first chance at the boy’s vulnerable ass and as long as some attempt of payment was made, Mercy’s former owners could wash their hands of him. Free and clear and legal. There was no such thing as the rights of manumission for the enslaved. 

Just a clusterfuck of an existence.

Sold, registered, tagged, and trained. Service as a slave until death.

Montana would make the bid. Even if he did not want to, even if his better judgment was arguing loudly against it, he would go into town and make the transaction. Feeling nauseous, he pushed away from the table. Opting for water rather than a beer, he’d need to keep his wits about him. As soon as his name was connected to the bill of sale…

The world went sideways and speckled by the dark spots flashing before his eyes. He gripped the counter and whirled on the wide eyed kidded huddled at his fucking kitchen table.

“How’d you get here?” He snapped and Mercy flinched as if he were slapped.

“I, they weren’t looking, and I took a chance, run or die,” Mercy licked his lips stumbling over his words, “I ran.”

“No!” The word roared out of him. So much for Montana’s legendary control and stoicism, “Here,” he stabbed the scarred table top. “Here, my ranch, how did you get here?”

Mercy tumbled from his chair, crawled until he lay prostrate at Montana’s feet. And didn’t that make him feel even more the bastard. Scrubbing a hand across his face, and almost unconsciously across the sides of his neck, Montana knelt so that his butt rested on his boot heels.

“Fuck all to hell,” He touched the jut of sharp shoulder blade. “I’m sorry, kid, here,” Mercy was frozen in a state of fear on the floor. Gentle hands fitted into hairless armpits and Montana lifted him, until he and Mercy were eye to eye.

He looked like a kicked puppy, so much like Doe Eyes.

Like Dani, despite her façade of sluttish coquettishness.

“I don’t blame you for running. Even escaping, you scream of maltreatment and starvation. I just…” Squeezing a gentle hand to Mercy’s nape, “Why my ranch?”

“The train came through the town. I heard the watchmen checking the cars.” Mercy’s green eyes took a faraway look. Some of his protective shield of feigned boredom was falling back into place despite his fear. “I don’t know how far the train took me from my master and my mistress. I just knew I couldn’t be caught by the watchmen.”

Yeah, they were in the hip pockets of slavers. Fresh meat for the pens, free services from the stock.

“I was going to try to stay hidden in the town, but it has two pimp gangs. Couldn’t even lift food from the trash, they had it scouted.” Just as he had in the chair, Mercy curled his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees.

“I thought the dirt path would be safer. I swear I had no intentions of coming here. Just getting away from there, from them.”

“You don’t have nowhere to go, kid. Compensation rather than remanding to your owners.”

Green eyes went wide with shock, his face going sickly pale.

“Shit, head between them knobby knees before you pass out.” He helped push the boy’s head down with another sigh of his own.

Oily sick feeling in his guts had died down somewhat. Compassion would cost him his own ass, but he had already made up his mind when he read the comm from Doc.

“So here’s the deal,” Montana stretched his legs out in front him. His ass was getting numb on hardwood floors. “You don’t get a free ride here. I’ll be your owner, on paper, but I’m not one of them.” He gritted out the words, “Master, you sure as hell don’t call me Master. Montana, Boss, but not the other, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fuck, that was just as bad.

“You’ll earn your keep and I don’t trust you.” Green eyes narrowed at that and Montana snorted, “Yeah, you don’t have any reason to trust me either. Just know I have the same right to sell your skinny ass once I own it.”

“Will you fuck me?”

Montana jerked. Well, kick him in the balls. “What the hell kind of pampered pet are you any way with a mouth like that?”

“One that was taught to scream for mercy,” the boy sneered. “I see what you are doing to them. You are just fucking them up worse. What’ll you think their new masters will do them for being retrained if something happens to you?”

He had enough of this ride. Grabbing the boy by his chin, his voice was low and deadly. “Keep out of my business and away from mine. Just because you are going to get a roof over your head, food in your belly and a collar around your throat doesn’t mean you get to act like sniveling brat who don’t know shit about me.”

Maybe the words hit too close to home, one of the many nightmares that kept him awake at night. And the kid, Mercy, had only been in his house for one night.

Mercy could tear down everything he had built.

Montana should just pack his ass back into town and let the slavers and the pimp gangs fight it out. Protect his own, Dani and Doe Eyes.

Or.

Crack Mercy wide open and rebuild him, or try to.

Like Dani and Doe Eyes.

His guts heaved viciously.

The defiant look in the bright green eyes also had a shadow of fear, of hungry desperation.

You always have a choice. To fight the inevitable or submit. There is no need for whining, acting out, or behaving like an ill mannered brat. Give into it, pain, pleasure, a will that is no longer your own. Submission and the power it holds.

Yes, yes, yes, there are dumb fucks who never realize that one single truth. Just because we are free, we are the owners, the masters; we can never take that one basic element away from the enslaved.

The choice.

You always have the choice.

He was going to regret it. His hand went to Mercy’s throat and felt the reflexive shudder. Morgan may not have meant his words in this particular context, but Montana had a choice.

Even if it fucked him sideways.

*~*

 

There was time to fight and a time to just let things sit and simmer in their juices. For Montana, he told himself he was not being a coward leaving Mercy in the house with Dani. He had chores to do and plans to chew on.

The sun had moved on in the sky. Still hot but no longer blistering, Doe Eyes tucked the long tails of Montana’s shirt into his cut offs. With a long slow kiss in the shade of the house, Montana patted his boy’s ass as he clumped in too large boots in the direction of the gardens.

Doe Eyes was ruthless when it came to weeding and watering the vegetables popping bright colors on vines and stalks. The fruit trees really did not begin to yield until later in the summer. The patches however would bring sweet strawberries, plums, and watermelons soon.

Mercy’s heated words still nagged at him like a bad tooth. He never really answered the boy. Would he fuck him? Yes, it would be hard to deny Mercy, the feigned boredom, quick mouth. And when he was healthy, more weight to the frame that had potential? The darker part of him reveled in finding what it would take to bring the proud starving slave down a notch or too, to bring about the reshaping.

Enslaved but free, chained but powerful, Morgan was right. No sweet weed or fine wine could produce the same seductive feelings of grandeur.

The stable held a different kind of warmth, earthy, musky. His pride and joy and what brought the little bit hard currency his ranch had. But he would never sell his girl, Sweet Lady Jane. The high bred city dwellers may stake their money on the sire and the blood line, but Montana would place his success on his Sweet Lady and the colts she dropped.

She butted and snorted at his shoulder as he saddled her. “Come on, girl, we need to ride the fences.”

Slow, monotonous work like scything but at least his mind was engaged. Fishing out his cigarette, he made steady notes to let the men know what was urgent along the board and picket fence row and what could be patched.

At the back end of his land, his scouting done, she knew. His Sweet Lady Jane started lifting her head and chomping her bit. Yeah, his girl had him in the palm of her hoof. It took the nudge of his boot heel and she was off as if she had been bit on the ass by wasps.

And in those brief moments with the symphony of pounding hooves, he was free. Flying, no burdens, no secrets, no fears.

Just freedom.

Jag was sitting on the gate waiting for Montana. The kid might be homely but he was a kindred spirit when it came to the love of horses.

“What’cha doin’? Shouldn’t you be begging for a ride into town or eating your fill before bunking down?” Montana asked. He knew the answer but it never hurt to hear it.

You ask too many question. An inquisitive mind is above your station. You are nothing but a sack of flesh and bone, a warm hole for the cock that uses you.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Montana listened as the boy hemmed and hawed, blushed and rubbed the back of his neck as he kicked at dirt and manure with the toe of his boot. It would have been much too easy to get a simple yes, he thought with a barely contained sigh. Scrubbing Sweet Lady Jane’s sweaty neck and tangled mane, Montana handed over the reins to Jag with not another word.

The sun was setting, the horizon a blaze of bright colors as the sun made its slow death into night. Pinks, oranges, purples painted the clouds. The ranch house loomed against the majestic glory of nature's back drop. Out of the corner of his eye, the wheat field yet to be harvested. It swayed as if a giant’s hand teased the heavy heads that drooped. Not since he had carved out their place here and stopped having sweaty nightmares, has he dreaded going into his home.

Where Mercy waited.

Dani and Doe Eyes uncertain with the newest rhythm being added into their lives.

His brief respite with Sweet Lady Jane was over.

*~*

The evening meal was quiet interrupted with the clatter of cutlery and the rustle of ice against glass. Dani and Doe Eyes kept their heads down, slave quiet and it made Montana’s skin itch. At the other end of the table, Mercy ate methodically. His fingers were clenched hard about his fork that his knuckles were white, his shoulders hunched as if he were guarding his plate.

Not that Montana would take it from him, hell; he wanted to stuff the kid to bursting.

But old habits die hard.

Or, in the languid grace of feminine lips sucking at slender fingers and dark hair hiding the beautiful cut of cheekbone and dip of chin, it died a slow, achingly beautiful but painful demise.

Once the table was cleared and the dishes done, Doe Eyes offered a hesitant hand to Mercy. At first, Montana thought he would sneer at it. Hurt Doe Eyes feelings, a back handed attempt to remind Doe Eyes that he was still a slave, despite Montana’s ‘lessons.’

Just as Mercy would be registered and collared once more.

Doe Eyes had that ethereal beauty, soft angelic eyes that just begged for acquiescence. Mercy was just more cautious about accepting the touch, much different than the evening before. Much different now that the newest boy would have to transition and find his place within an established home. Multiple slaves serving one home or one master had an unwritten pecking order. Or if it amused the master, a much more sinister one, pitting slave against slave.

The fresh blackberries sat heavily on his stomach. He patted his breast pocket absently for another cigarette that wasn't there.

Montana knew his boy; he often thought he could come just from Doe Eyes brushing his hair, the bristles dragging against his scalp. The drape and tease of slender limbs across his back or sitting his lap. He huffed; Doe Eyes must think that a sensual hair brushing could cure all that ailed a body.

Montana narrowed his eyes as Mercy pushed back from the table. He took the offered hand and followed where Doe Eyes led. Mercy still carried a slight limp in his gait. If he ran, as he said he did, even a raw, dry fucked ass would have been on its way to healing. Registration directories did not carry the vital statistics of the owners when it came to runaways rather just the course of actions upon the finding the wayward slave.

Mercy’s owners would have been lower on the food chain to count the loss of a slave as acceptable. The upper echelons of pampered pets had shadow bounty hunters employed if they were ever successful in running. Those bastards were damn good at their jobs.

It would mean that Mercy’s origins were much closer than he originally thought, and his newly acquired level of fragile peace plummeted.

Bright colored fabric distracted him, as Dani lifted her skirt and straddled his thighs. The sunny yellow complimented dusky tanned skin, beautiful rare colored hair teasing the curve of her bodice stretched by her lush breasts. His hands settled on Dani’s hips, watching her closely. She reminded him of the radiant sunset, so fucking gorgeous.

Of the two, Dani had taken to the looser restrictions of his home like water off a duck’s back. Her sharp tongue would have been a normal occurrence in a slave hall. The fact that he encouraged her tacitly was all she needed to let that natural strength of reslience come to the fore.

Even if it got her into trouble still, more often than not.

“Montana,” Her words were shaky as she bit hard into her bottom lip. A word like ‘master’ had been easy for her to discard but not the engrained need to please at the cost of her wants. Her hands went to his shoulders, clenching plaid beneath her fingers and releasing restlessly, over and over.

Montana was patient; he had nothing better to do than watch in subdued awe as his girl slowly opened herself to vulnerability. He knew what was coming. His heart thumped hard in his chest, keeping firm steady hands on her hips. All he had to do was wait. For Dani to make the scary choice of verbally speaking out, to voice what she needed shrouded under the veil of want.

“Montana,” she repeated, moistening her lips as her throat worked. Ducking her head sharply, her auburn curls fluttered around her shoulders.

“Iwantyoutospankmeandfuckme. Please.” Her words came out in a stumbling rush finally, her shoulders shaking under the effort. Her cheeks were stained scarlet and Dani couldn't lift her eyes to meet his gaze head on. For all of her bravado, Dani had her own fragility.

He got it. And his heart broke open a little more.

Gathering her skirt in one fist, he let his open palm curve around her naked buttocks.

“Good girl, such a good girl.” He pushed up her up and out of his lap as he stood up. The chair scraped harshly against the floor. Nudging the straps of her dress off her shoulders, it still caught on the heavy weight of her breasts.

“My room, naked and kneeling. Now.”

*~*

 

When it came to spanking, there were several choices. Montana had collected a wide array of tools once survival was no longer paralyzing tantamount. The ranch house came with a slave hall but his collection did not warrant that much space. Or dealing with the emotional backlash of using such a space, it stood mostly empty and gathering dust.

He kept his tools of the pleasure slave trade in his room. It was ridiculously big plus a bathing room of its own. A new bed was probably going to be a future investment, large enough for three or more rather than its current double occupancy.

The canes and paddles hung neatly in the second walk in closet that he did not need for clothes. He had a cabinet with plugs and chastity devices. His own cock twitched at the sight of the innocuous silver wands. The drawer closed with a snap. Doe Eyes could not handle sounding.

He had jewelry found in auctions and all but abandoned in the town’s simple shops. Cock rings were always a good investment. As were collars, the closet held simple daily wear to high posturing collars. The black lacquered box held more sinister items, such as knives, wicked cock cages, and weights that could be hung from nipples and balls.

Folded up in an innocent pile of black leather was the suspension sling he could not pass up for its price. It went unused just as the dull metal hook in the abandoned slave hall.

Restraints, cuffs, ropes, and gags were much more accessible throughout his house. They were just as potent and successful. Ignoring the sinister slither of single tail whip and the studded multi-strand, Montana chose a simple crop, and soft suede flogger. 

If Dani craved anymore impact, it would come from the flat of his hand.

He really hated the collection, he thought with a snarl, slapping off the light. Even if none of them could do without it.

His hands fisted as he took deep breaths. He needed to get the fuck out of his own damn head if he was going to be any good for Dani. And she deserved his best, for struggling to come to terms with what he asked of both her and Doe Eyes.

Ask you and you shall receive. As if it could really be that simple.

Mercy’s words felt like an extra burden hanging about his throat.

She was waiting.

In just his denims and the weight of his tools in his hands, his breath caught at the sight of her. Dani, his girl, pampered pet and too fucking proud to become the broken shell of a mess when he found her.

Long red hair had been pinned up high, just a couple of curls teasing the column of her neck encircled with black leather of his ownership. Her back was too him from the angle of the door. Slender, the hollow of spine, the dimples just above the creamy round of behind, hips that beckoned to be held, to be bruised.

A blank canvas for the brush of pain, the hues of a bruise, the rise of welts, and the hint of blood.

Dani had perfect posture, straight back, her ass resting on her heels. Montana knew her hands would be loosely curled on her thighs, palms up in supplication.

Anticipation was a part of the sick twisted training, a known factor and heady curl of arousal in the gut. When would the first strike land? Where? With what? Would it be okay to cry out in surprise at the flare of instant heat and the second beat of the brain catching up with pain? Or bear it quietly, lips bitten and bleeding, teeth grinding against each blow to make the Master proud.

Master.

Fuck it all to hell.

Montana made sure she could hear him, the staccato of the flogger against his leg as he stepped up close to her. Placed a soothing hand on her shoulder, Dani’s skin was soft and cool to the touch. As he circled her, that hand went to her chin to lift it. So he could look into her eyes, and break even more inside his weary soul.

Dark eyes almost completely black with anticipation, lips parted and slick. So damn beautiful.

He made her curl over the edge of the bed with her ass presented, slender thighs parting just enough that he could see the swollen slick evidence of her arousal. It had been awhile since she had this and he wanted her safe, the mattress and bed frame to support her when her legs finally give out.

Memories were held carefully at bay as Montana started with the flogger. Letting the strands slither over skin, a kiss in greeting, a promise of what was to come. He preferred using this one, the buildup was not overwhelming. Just slow steady thumps of suede on skin that began to warm and flush pink.

Time stood still under the rhythm, his arm warming and Dani adjusting her weight from foot to foot. He knew what she was doing, an almost subtle attempt to hump against the mattress. Montana let her have it. He plans for her pretty place between her thighs and she would sing sweetly on the high of pain.

Placing the flogger on the bed beside her, he took a moment to appreciate the red glow of her bottom and upper thighs. Ran his hands over fevered skin and Montana smirked at her thin thready moan.

She was ripe and he gently pressed the leather of the crop between her thighs. Dani’s hands curled tightly into the bedding. Her legs parted further, ass lifting, sweeter than any begging words that could come from her mouth.

The snap of the crop had a different rhythm than the flogger; it gave him creativity in controlling her anticipation than the steady throws. He could lay six blows across her ass and her thighs then slide the leather teasingly down the column of her spine. Mimicking what she wanted between her legs, Montana thought as he inhaled sharply, her scent was rich with her need and it made his cock painfully hard in his denims.

But this was about her not him. She would get her fucking after. Just like she wanted.

Placing one hand on the base of Dani’s spine, the crop like black ink on the reddened backdrop of her ass, he let his fingers trail through the damp wetness. Brought the wet muskiness to his lips, savored better than any fine wine served in crystal glasses.

“Good girl, my girl, needy slut,” He praised her as he calmed her, she was so fucking gorgeous and he could have her, in his lap, on his cock.

Soon.

Stepping to side, he began the punishing pace of spanking her swollen pussy lips with the leather of his crop. Her cries accompanied the sound of the blows, words deepening into the guttural syllables of moans and hitches of sobbing breath. Montana watched her fight with her own body, the way Dani would squeal and try to close her thighs until she relaxed and began to ride the fire of pleasure of sweet pain against her most tender flesh. Her uncontrollable orgasms brought him that dark wash of power that was both seductive and sickening.

Let the crop fall to the floor, he sat down heavily beside Dani. Her shoulders were still quaking, riding the endorphins, still high on pain that gives such sweet pleasure.

“Come here, baby girl.”

Her legs were trembling, her face a swollen mess of tears, lips reddened and bitten, eyes soft with the hazy feelings of submitting.

He let her crawl over his lap with little grace; she was too far gone to make an effort, to create a false picture. Montana’s own need growled low in his gut. What Dani was feeling was real and it was by his hand.

Spankings could be for simple infractions, groundings, playful, fun or a dreaded chore. At this point, it was mainly perfunctory, adding more layers of sensations to Dani’s ass that would no doubt be near purple come the morning. He kept his hand striking in even blows, watching as she rubbed against his thigh, dampening the denim. Her hair had loosened ribbons of dark red waterfall.

His own palm was burning as he alternated spanking with teasing her cunt. Gentle brushes against the swollen lips, dipping one finger inside. She rippled, silky wet heat clenching against him. It was when he had four deep that her cry was a thin wail, her body spasming with the strength of her orgasm.

Montana gave her the time that she needed, scooped up in his arms, wrapped in his embrace. Murmured nonsensical words against her sweaty forehead, her cheeks, her nose, as her body continued to spasm as she came down.

When sleepy brown eyes opened, Montana smiled at her.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

“Need to take care of you,” she said, her words slow and lethargic, “Said you would fuck me.”

Brushing her hair back from her face, Montana studied her closely before whispering, “Do you need it? Do you need me to?”

Her lashes fluttered and finally, in a small voice, Dani replied, “No sir.”

Heart in his throat, Montana kissed her mouth over and over, “Good girl, my good girl.”

Bathing her, smoothing lotion over her bruises and welts, he tended to her, attentive the change in her breath, the heavy movement of her limbs.

“Want to sleep with me tonight, baby girl?”

Her curls shook down her back as she responded sleepily, “Want Doe.”

Closing his eyes, he drew her up into his arms, careful of her ass. Ignoring the weight in his groin, he was so fucking proud of her. But was smart enough to know that it would take many more times before Dani could be trusted to claim her wants and needs.

She wasn’t there yet.

Doe Eyes bedroom door was open, the boy curled into a fetal ball under thin sheets. He lifted his head sleepily, a concerned frown puckering his brow.

“She wanted you, beautiful.”

The frown smoothed out and Doe Eyes lifted the corner of the sheet in offer. Dani hissed with discomfort until she settled against Doe Eyes’ side, deeply asleep.

Montana pulled Doe Eye’s hair to expose the length of the throat and full mouth. He kissed Doe Eyes with aching hunger but would not disturb Dani and his boy knew that. And understood. Leaving the door open, Montana made his way back to his own room.

To his own fist wrapped around his cock to the memories of Dani’s responsive body and sweet cries.

A movement stopped him and he turned.

Mercy lounged against the door of his room, arms crossed over his naked chest. His cock soft and sleepy in the scraggily nest of pubes. Even in the shadows, Montana could count the boy’s bones. His cheeks were sunken in that it looked like Montana was being watched by a skull.

Unsure of how many minutes they stared at each other, Montana turned to go to bed. His ardor gone, his cock wilted within his denims. Sleep did not come as he stared at the ceiling until the black of night faded into the purple twilight of approaching morning.

*~*

The next morning dawned clear and it should have been mostly a repeat of the day last, over and over. Insecurity could be healed with the monotony of the expected. Even Dani and Doe Eyes loosened first over the back breaking routine of getting the ranch carved out and ready to operate at his side. Then what came after, the slow additions to the bunkhouse, more land, more grain, and more horses. But the basic daily premise of their existence was the same.

Except for Mercy.

Doe Eyes knelt on the floor watching him solemnly as Montana pulled out rarely worn dark colored denims, a plain white button up shirt, his shiny sharp toed boots. Then the wide buckled belt and his town hat twisted uselessly between his fingers.

“Are you taking Dani with you?” Doe Eyes asked his voice quiet. 

Montana considered the question. A fair one, Dani enjoyed trips into town, the way the townies fawned over her beauty, her demure behavior at Montana’s side, which was such a crock a shit. He and Dani would both laugh at the reactions garnered until tears would stream down their faces.

Doe Eyes on the other hand, hated the town and was a nervous wreck every time Montana ventured into taking him.

It went without say that Mercy was not getting anywhere near the sparse population.

Reaching out, his thumb smoothed over black leather before leaning down to claim a kiss. Feeling how Doe Eyes surrendered, it would be so easy just to lift the boy and tumble him back into bed. Slaves and land be damned beneath welcoming arms and tight heat.

Right, he had not been able to find release after Dani not with Mercy too knowing stare. He would just have them both in his bed when he returned from town, Doe Eyes and Mercy. His skin felt too tight, his brain too full. He could not make costly mistakes that would endanger not only him but now his possessions, his ranch, his….slaves that would now include Mercy as well. His stomach soured. At Doe Eyes’ uncomfortable cough, he realized his face had turned into a snarling mask of a frown. Petting his boy’s hair in apology, he moved away and shifted his cock for comfort within his denims.

And added another destination on his trip into town.

Doe Eyes’ question, right, he still needed to answer that one. Considering what he planned to do and where he needed to go, the answer was a resounding no.

“No, her ass wouldn’t appreciate the ride.” That too, and Doe Eyes’ indelicate snort made him grin. Pulling him up, Montana took time to kiss Doe Eyes thoroughly until he had a pliant curl of warm naked boy against him, slender fingers thumbing cotton over his nipple piercing.

*~*

The town of Pepperville was as much of a town as any. A general store, the post office, two restaurants, and the train station office. The bank no longer held money but the last remnants of ancient technology that tracked currency and credit. There were sounds of ancient generators coughing and sputtering to run lights and water, along with the tang of oil burning lamps, and ever present thick industrial candles.

Montana did not have much schooling, unlike the wealthy kids of the cities. But he knew that something terrible had happened long before even his great-great grandparents had been born, leaving behind a wasteland and very little to rebuild with.

But he knew well the slavery laws, twisted convoluted shit that meant only one thing in the end, it was for life and there was no such thing as freedom. He had to pull his hand away from his neck. The tattoos drew enough attention on their own without his help.

Doc had a small shingle proclaiming his services hung over his door. Montana knocked and the holler told him to “Come on in!”

Doctor Monroe was the only health professional in the area. Hell, Montana was not sure if there was even a doctor in the next closest township. He did know that Doc made a lot of house calls. A lot of them. His practice was a mix of medical and veterinary and for that Montana was eternally grateful that it was near Pepperville, when he and his small band finally stopped, exhausted near dropping and not getting up again, terrified, and fiercely determined to survive.

And it was Doc Monroe that kept up with slave activity as much as he could, as much as his own advance age allowed. He had a cordial relationship with the slavers in the area. If they bent the rules or blatantly ignored them, they did it outside of Pepperville. And there were two pimp gangs, but each town had their own rotten apples. One preyed on the weak and the other was the kingdom of Mistress Gertie.

A small part of Montana was glad, despite his own fears and worries that Mercy hadn’t fallen into the clutches of any of them.

He stepped around bridles and foul smelling bowls of paste. Doc’s desk was overflowing with bits of papers and detritus of his profession. Lifting books carefully from the chair across from Doc, he sat the crumbling, yellow paged tomes onto the floor.

“How much you going to offer?” Doc’s ancient wheeled chair creaked and whined shrilly as he turned from his tech station to face Montana.

“What was his purchase price on record?” Montana kept his words bland to the point of disinterest. Monroe was a good man and Montana liked him. But he was also getting a finder’s fee for putting through the transaction and Montana played his cards close to his vest.

When the price was named, his brow lifted in surprise. “Just how old is the little shit?” He spat out before he could stop himself.

Doc’s watery blue eyes were calculating as he scratched his whiskers. “Would have been his first sale no doubt, a virgin always draws in the credits. Roger and Madeline Dewsbury of City Angeles-Fransico, he is a speculator and she comes from money too.” He slapped the side of the terminal when the screen when blurry. The images warbled and then cleared up. “Strange, they paid for virgin blood and only want the lowest compensation.”

Thinking of Mercy’s protruding ribs, slightly bulged belly, and the way he scooped up food, his previous owners did not place much value on the slave despite the price of prestige.

“I’ll pay a quarter of his original price as well as the registration licensing.” Montana crossed his boot over his thigh. Doc dug through his papers for the proper forms, the ruddiness of his cheeks proof of his excitement. Even a quarter was still high for a slave’s price in these parts, and Doc just made himself a nice chunk of change on the side.

“Any problems with him?”

“No, he’s got a limp though. Next time your down in my part of the woods, I’ll have you check him over.”

Handing Montana the stylus and ink pot, Doc nodded. “Didn’t think of that when I dropped him on you the other day.”

Scratching his name, careful not to smudge the drying ink, Montana disagreed, “Probably would have hurt himself trying to get away from you if you tried.”

“That skittish?”

“Not with Doe Eyes and Dani,” His tone was flat and Doc got the point that Montana was through with talking.

“I’ll put these through the bank and then send out the post for the city.” Montana felt the cramp in his guts. His name was going into the slave registry mainframe along with the location of his home. Clammy sweat gathered on the nape his neck. With a shake of his head to the clear the ringing in his ears, he focused on the rest of Doc’s rambling. “Shouldn’t be any hiccups with the Dewsbury’s. I’ll bring by the registration tag, be out sooner to check on the kid.”

“Mercy.”

Doc lifted his brow, “How’s that?”

“Kid’s name is Mercy.”

“Of all the fucked up…” Doc spluttered a rare burst of profanity. “You could always rename him.”

Montana got up and put his hand on the doorknob, “I think he earned it.”

*~*

Mistress Gertie’s place was on the farthest side of town before dropping off into the barren lands leading towards the mountain gulley. An old scrub board broken down house with a dilapidated roof and paper instead of glass on the windows.

The grass was high on the left side to discourage visitors from poking around, the rotted board fence held guard on the right. But nothing could keep the song of the whip or the music of pain filled shouts off the air filtering back towards town.

Rubbing the side of his neck along the tattoo, Montana looked back over shoulder. He always felt like he was being watched, an itch between his shoulder blades. Probably was with the nature of Mistress Gertie’s business and all. It just made his skin feel even tighter, the seams holding him together about to burst.

There was no reason to question why he came here. He was a slave owner and Gertie could get the best tools and find obscure objects for sale. Not that he cared what the townies thought, fear was as natural as breathing. And he was afraid he could be found out and his house of cards would be crashing down.

Not just him but Dani, Doe Eyes, Mercy…he closed his eyes to gather his resolve. To claim the lessons he was trying to teach his own. What was the hardest lesson of them all.

When he lifted his hand to knock, the door creaked open on its hinges. A tall man with the skin the color of coffee motioned him to enter, “She’s waitin’ fer ya in the back.”

Taking of his hat and scrubbing at his sweaty hair, he gave his quiet thanks.

Eyes of slaves reclining on sagging couches followed him through the main room and back into the hallway. Sounds of fucking and grunting were loud, as were spankings and the sounds of raised voices saying terrible words, humiliating and debilitating.

Mistress Gertie’s ‘office’ held sway in the master bedroom. A desk of surprisingly good repair and a pink shaded lamp was the first thing he saw. Then the huge bed with its moth eaten curtains hanging from the posts, the cuffs laid in wait to be used.

She was sitting in a small area with a high backed chair of faded velvet, her legs crossed at the ankle. He had to lick his lips to moisten them at the sight of black leather ankle boots with a curved heel. Mistress Gertie wore stockings despite the heat, a skirt that just kissed the top of her boots, and a corset of light pink satin edged in black lace. Her curls were thick like sausages brushing the tops over her pale shoulders.

“Tsk, tsk,” she clucked drawing his attention to her face that was round, heavily made up and frowning. 

Montana blushed violently.

“What are you waiting for, boy?”

*~*

Montana’s hands shook over buttons and zips, placing his clothes folded neatly beside his boots, his belt and hat sitting on top of them. His bones creaked in the ghost of a memory as he knelt fluidly in front of her. Back straight, chin up, eyes down, hands open resting on his thighs, some lessons are never forgotten.

The chair creaks and he has to keep from flinching. Deep breathing, the words circling in his mind, there is always a choice, despite being enslaved, there is always a choice.

Strong fingers plunged into his hair, hard nails scraping against his scalp; it took all of his control not to yelp, as she pulled his head back. Watery gray eyes looked him over, they could see everything, take his measure, no doubt finding him lacking.

She was so very close; he could feel the tips of her boots digging into the skin of his thighs. With her free hand, her thumb pressed into his cheekbone. Firm and grounding, and the tightness that he had been carrying around started to loosen.

“Not yet,” Her ragged smoke and whiskey voice graveled, “but getting there. Down and present, let’s see how much you have forgotten off playing master on that ranch.” Her words made his stomach roll, oily and sick.

On his face, he reached back and opened himself for her appraisal. The flush of his face covered his chest, his hands clammy and sweat beading along his hairline. Her boot was so close he could smell the leather and dust, shivering he licked his lips to moisten them.

There was the sound of popping joints and quiet grunt, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. Too small fingers touched his hole, cool in the stuffiness of the room.

“Smooth and pretty, good boy,” One of her fingers breached him easily, gently tugging at the rim until she pushed two inside. Mistress Gertie liked him open and wet; he pushed back on the smooth hard plug that she used. Her withered touch smoothed over his back, petted his ass. Praised him for being a good boy.

Such a good boy

Thoughts were blurring, past and present ghosts of the past and her gentle reminder of the now.

“Up on the bed.”

His favorite and he hummed happily causing to her to giggle which sounded curiously girlish. She sat beside him, her weight causing the old mattress to dip. She patted her thigh and he pressed his forehead against her gratefully.

“Gonna have to talk to you, when I bring you back up, boy,” Her fingers played with his hair, scratched his scalp, brushed against his ears and neck, “Stole a pretty piece of profit just under my nose.

Her words were a buzz, the cloth under his cheek both musty and musky with her scent. She was talking to him and he really should be more inclined to pay attention. Really.

The plug within him shifted and he rutted his hips against her bed. She laughed again giving him a soft slap against his ass.

“I know why you need this. Hell, I’m glad you came to me, boy. Someone’s favorite mistake trying to find his place in a word turned upside down, inside out, and sideways. I just can’t figure why you are so horny with those pretty young things mooning after you.”

The plug was pushed deeper and there, he keened high and needy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mistress’ voice changed and he did not like it one bit. He rubbed his cheek against thigh, suckled the fingers she shoved into his mouth.

She stood up abruptly and he blinked in dazed confusion. “I can’t give you that. Even with the studs of my stable you would not be satisfied. That old bastard ruined you for anyone that you would ever encounter.” She hissed. Snapping her fingers, she pointed to floor at her feet. “Down.”

The command he understood even when the tone of displeasure did not. He knelt, squeezing the plug to keep it within his body, unwilling to disappoint the Mistress even more.

Her posture changed, one foot pushed forward, her hands fisted at her hips. Blushing violently, he pressed his cheek on the dirty floor beside it. With a hesitant finger, he brushed leather that encased her toes.

“That’s it; show me what a dirty mouth you have, you little bitch.”

Her words lashed at him like leather on his back, leather and dust mingled on his tongue. Slow long licks, revealing the glossy black beneath the filth. Moving his tongue over and over, back and forth until it stung bordering on numb. His nose nuzzled at her calf covered soft stockings.

How easy it would be to kneel up on his knees and press his face between her thighs, to serve her with his mouth, to be a good boy.

But not without her leave, he was not a spoiled greedy boy.

Mistress tugged at his hair again, studying him with those all knowing eyes. “You need to come, don’t you?”

His body leapt at her words making the heavy weight hanging between his thighs known, aching and swollen. He sucked her thumb into his mouth when she pressed it against his lips.

“You know what to do.”

He sucked harder in denial.

“Yes you do, pretty boy, you want it,” Her hand flattened on the top of his head, pushing downward. “And you need it.”

Shamed and humiliated, he knelt to where he was straddled her small boot. The leather a wicked tease at the crown of his cock, making him roll his hips into it. Seeking more, needing more friction. Knew what he looked like, a horny dog humping her leg with quick thrusts. He kept his precarious balance with his fists on the floor.

“Good boy,” Mistress crooned and it was enough. He shuddered as his seed splattered over leather, leaving him hollow and sated, panting with his cheek against her thigh. Like the well trained slave, he was on his face, lapping up the sticky seed until her boot shine once more.

She stepped away from him then, leaving him to come back on his own, taking as much time as he needed. To find his way back to Montana, not who he had been, to sit with her, Mistress Gertie, not just a nameless, faceless Mistress using him for service.

*~*

Bare but for his unbuttoned denims, he inhaled from the cigarette Gertie had gave him. His shot of whiskey sat untouched on her small table. She smoked with him, regarding him with shrewd eyes.

“How much did you pay for him?”

Montana blew a nonchalant breath of smoke and refused to answer.

“Bastard,” Gertie’s rejoinder held no heat. “Got your head messed up and you dick in twist though, doesn’t it? Taking on another one, reminding you of the past, you haven’t sought me out in years, Montana. It’s because of him, the new kid.”

Lifting an indolent shoulder, Montana tossed back the whiskey and savored the burn.

Gertie just stared him down until she gave an impatient huff. The black lace fan fluttered like a useless butterfly in front of her face, make up wrecked with trails of sweat. She nudged a beat up cardboard box across the floor until it bumped his foot.

“Won’t know what the new kid’s trigger is, yet, thought you might like a new harness I found a couple of months ago. Thought of you, take it, in trade for your service.”

That made his cheeks go pink, a trade was a trade, servicing her need to be a true Mistress with a trained slave rather than an old painted whore raking in currency of the backs of used up slaves. Pimp gangs profited off the selling of flesh by the hour. Slavers sold flesh into the hands of another for the lifetime of the slave.

He dressed quickly, knowing that Gertie watched him like a puffed up crow sitting on a fence. Her hand on his shoulder stopped him when he bent to gather the box.

“You worry for nothing, sweet boy, you are living the dream of all those ever enslaved. You truly are free.”

Words escaped him, so Montana kissed her soft and wet against her mouth until they parted with a gasp of surprised pleasure.

For him, his life might be the stories of dreams whispered in the slave halls, but the reality was the nightmare he lived with every breath he took.

His hand went to his throat, encircling rather than rubbing the tattoos. The ghost weight of the collar never truly faded.

*~*

Montana used the trip back to his ranch to think. He would be placing a collar around Mercy’s neck, its ownership attributed to him. He never had any intentions of owning another one. Dani and Doe Eyes were special, they did not know the exact nature of his secrets but over the years had probably discerned more than he wanted them to.

The barn and bunkhouse was empty. The heartbeat of his land thrumming steadily, he owned it and he made it shine, with Doe Eyes and Dani’s help. A situation like he had now with Mercy had never crossed his mind. Hell, hiring men to help with the ranch had bungled about with his ignorant butterfingers.

Hitching the box up into his arms, he carried inside, kicking off his uncomfortabl town boots in the mud room. Box deposited onto the kitchen table, he fished out the band of leather from his pocket. Another acquirement from Mistress Gertie, “On loan,” she had husked rubbing a hand across his denim covered cock, “until next time you pay with your service.”

Damn it to hell if he did not go red in the face just thinking about it, stupid cock twitching in his pants.

Water eased the dry ache of his throat. Where would he find Mercy? Shit, he hadn’t really spent enough time with the kid. Not after that one highly successful conversation that sent Montana out into the fields like a coward with his tail tucked between his legs.

Dani may be mouthy but she knew when to let up. Mercy would have to learn it too, whether he wanted to or not. Learn the new master’s preferences, his stomach roiled sickly mixing whiskey and water, like well trained slaves should.

Was Mercy well-trained? Certainly observant and quick witted, but the money of his previous owners did not guarantee sufficiently trained. And how hard he would have to break that training so he could live with himself as a master.

Sighing, he castigated himself as a selfish pathetic jackass.

The house seemed too quiet, Dani’s presence suspiciously absent. She did not like to stay in her room. She would play snowy sounding music through the comm or try to play songs on the horribly out of tune pieced together keyboard she just had to have. “We will be just as high browed as the townies, Montana, if we have the pie anne oh.”

Not as high browed as the larger cities though, her education so lacking. He would never embarrass her by correcting her pronunciation. Not like the townies would know any better than his proud, slightly vain girl.

Montana followed the hallway and saw the light blazing from Doe Eyes’ room. The door was not fully open and his hand stopped a breath away from pushing into it and swinging the door wide when he heard Mercy’s voice. Peering inside, Doe Eyes was splayed across his bed with the newest addition’s feet in his hands. Mercy reclined against the bed post with his arms crossed watching the other boy. Montana could only make out his profile and knew that neither of them realized he was listening.

Eavesdroppers will never hear any good of themselves an old slave-mate in his training house loved to say when cat fights would break out among the students. She liked to think she was above them all, the way she would fawn at the teachers’ feet, sweetly rounded and dimpled. If he remembered correctly, she had been sold directly to the training house instead of being sent by a master or mistress. She was also the first to leave, being bought for excelling in her lessons, the bitch. He had stayed a lot longer before he was deemed worthy enough to return.

Montana realized he was scratching at the tattoos again and moved his hand to his breast pocket, patting it, searching for cigarettes that were not there. Dani would give him hell about the smell that she would have to wash out of his good town shirt. He hoped the ride home had caused the scent from Mistress Gertie’s to fade.

Breathing in and out to settle himself, he leaned against the wall where he could watch Mercy and listen to their conversation. Eavesdropping could fuck itself.

“How long have you been with him, the master?”

Fuck that word too, sideways, Montana chafed mentally.

“Ten years, Montana is the second actually.”

That got Mercy’s attention, eyes widening. “But you are what twenty, twenty-one? It’s illegal to sell so young, virgin blood, notwithstanding.”

Doe Eyes’ laughed, such a sweet sound next to Mercy’s squawking. Long nimble fingers crept upward over ankle bone and slope of barely there calf, “I was fifteen when the first master purchased me, right out of the training house. The master,” Doe Eyes’ words trailed off and Montana kept from thumping his head on the wall.

Mercy should know when to shut the hell up if he had any training at all. Or maybe he came from one of those catty, backstabbing slave halls. If he did, no wonder the kid wanted to escape, starvation notwithstanding. Hierarchy among slaves where masters pitted one against the other could be hell holes, never ending minefields ready to cut your legs right out from under you.

He must have made some sound because the next words from Doe Eyes’ were painful for even Montana to hear, much less for his boy to say them, “He died not too soon after, he, well, he…”

“Fucked you?” Doe Eyes nodded, “Damn, he must have been old, ancient.”

“No, not really, Montana was his heir; the master knew something was wrong with his health. He had it in his papers that if anything were to happen to him then his property would go to Montana.”

Montana waited, counted one, two, three –

“Fuck that," Mercy all but exploded, angry and vicious, "I know he is screwing with your head and your training, Doe, Dani's too. But you gotta know, the way he acts, the things he knows…”

“I don’t understand,” Doe Eyes’ voice sharpened, quiet, controlled compared to Mercy's outburst. “Whatever you think you know, you are wrong.” Doe Eyes pushed Mercy’s leg away and crossed his arms. “You haven’t been here but for a couple of days and at Montana’s pleasure. He could sell you.” Doe Eyes said coldly. “If he spent good currency maybe he could get it back from the slavers or the pimp gangs.”

Wow, the kid really pissed off his boy. Doe Eyes was the more subdued peacemaker of his two.

Montana’s eyes narrowed as Mercy held up his hands as if to ward off Doe Eyes’ words, “You're right, I don’t know. He could have easily dumped my ass back into that truck and sent me on without another thought, but he didn’t. I was just thinking crazy thoughts you know, we all think of it, don’t you?”

“What?” Doe Eyes’ sounded more cautious, reserved.

“About a slave being free.”

Doe Eyes went very still and Montana’s heart caught in his throat, painful beats, suspended in time. The Doe Eyes began to laugh, quietly at first and then uproariously collapsing into a pile of shaking limbs on the mattress.

Mercy watched wide eyed as if Doe Eyes had lost his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Doe Eyes wheezed, “I truly am. I’m not laughing at you. I’m not.” Doe Eyes reached out and took Mercy’s hand in his, peacemaker nature over riding his earlier bout of anger. “No one can get away with freedom, not with gene therapy and the internal tracers. All it would take is one minute sample of DNA. We all know this. A slave portraying himself to be free is a death sentence. Besides, the genetics is tied to our registrations. It is impossible.”

Damn, fuck me, Montana thought, he knew his boy was smart. He felt a small burst of pride.

Mercy murmured words of agreement. But the shrewd look on his face warned Montana to be on his guard. No one really gave it much thought, not in Pepperville anyhow. He had been busted up plenty of times just working the land, along with Dani and Doe Eyes. Doc had access to each of their medical records.

And it was in black and white, Montana – owner, Dani and Doe Eyes – property of Montana. For all of the technology and history lost in the past, the forefathers that led to the present were fastidious when it came to slave law and slave registration. No high blooded city dweller could stomach the thought of working and sharing a table with a former slave. And they perfected the technology when all others languished and died. Binding a life in blood and law, irreversible.

Not that Montana really gave a shit, not for every day concerns. That was for his horses, his land, Dani and Doe Eyes. His past had a way of rising up and biting him on the ass. Only Gertie knew the truth and in the end it was his word against that of a notorious leader of one of Pepperville’s more colorful pimp gangs. 

He knew it. She knew it. And it was why there tacit agreement worked.

Now with Mercy, just as he thought, his carefully constructed world could go to hell in a hand basket.

The boy was successful in running away from his city owners. He could do the same with Montana if he really put his mind to it. It all came down to choice, and the boy had no reason to trust Montana.

The leather collar in his hand felt too damn heavy. He had his work cut out for him.

A small cough drew his attention and the voices inside the room got quiet. Dani lifted a brow in question and Montana just shrugged.

“Master Winfield sent over some fresh cheese from his newest batch. I bartered a couple bushels of potatoes for it.” Her voice was loud enough to carry into Doe Eyes’ room. Her expressive eyes warned Montana that she was worried and he would hear about it when she got him alone.

Doe Eyes opened his door wider and seemed surprised to see Montana standing there. Mercy, on the other hand, just narrowed those shrewd too all seeing eyes. “You need help, Dani?”

“Would love some, Doe.” Doe Eyes went to her side and put an arm around her waist. They made a pretty picture, dark head leaning agaist red.

Montana put a hand on Mercy’s thin arm to stop him, “You two go ahead.” He met those green eyes unflinchingly. “Me and Mercy need to have a chat.”

*~*

Doe Eyes and Dani’s voices faded as they departed for the kitchen. 

Then it was silence, except for the sound of heavy, distressed breathing. Montana turned to meet Mercy’s gaze head on. The boy jerked his arm out of his grasp violently.

“You are. A. Slave.” He hissed, backing into Doe Eyes’ vacated room, his arms hugging himself, bones and limbs casting weird shadows in oil lamp and candlelight.

Montana’s jaw rippled with frustration. “So are you.” Then he gave a few heart beats of silence, considering the boy, too proud, too thin, too damn angry, to have been so broken that only choice Mercy could make logically was to run.

“Prove it.”

Mercy gaped at him. “You aren’t denying it?”

“No,” Montana said with forced calm, “I said, prove it.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

Mercy reared back as if he had been physically slapped. And the reaction messed with Montana’s head. What kind of slave was Mercy? Who had trained him? What kind of people purchased his virgin’s price only to starve him to death? To allow him a sense of self instead of complete ownership?

“I gave you a roof; I bought your ass to keep it out of slave pen or having it used by the hour. And this is the fucking thanks I get? You little shit, because you disagree with my methods as a Master?” He spat, his fist clenched and how he wanted to strike out. If that is what Mercy wanted, as fucked up as it was, he would give it to him.

“Kneel down.”

The boy looked like he wanted to protest as Montana fished out the leather collar. Lifting a menacing brow, he growled, “Do you really want to start this with punishment first?”

In an awkward tumble of too thin limbs and jutting bones, Mercy crashed on the floor in a bone jarring thump. Montana watched his natural inclination to go to his face, forehead going by the same leave as his knees. But the kid sucked a breath and nearly rippled into the right posture, back straight, head up, eyes down. The fact that his hands were clenched into tight boney fists was telling.

Forced but not willing to give an inch.

His own hand went to his heart, as if Montana could make it stop hurting with physical touch.

Instead he let the black leather collar wave in front of the kid’s nose. “It’s just like Doe Eyes and Dani’s. Doc will bring out the registration tag when it’s ready. It’s just a formal transaction, but he will draw your blood and then you will be mine.” Bile rose up and he squashed it down brutally.

Mercy’s head snapped up, and in the shadow of candlelight, the impression of a skull was evident in the boy’s too thin face. If Montana had fanciful thoughts, he might think of it as an omen. He just wondered if Mercy truly would be the death of him.

It was a mistake to think a sack of skin and bones had a brain. Mercy had to be smart to survive the long haul from the city but his sense of survival fucked with his training as a slave. Maybe he thought that escape meant that he was free. Montana was frustrated, tired. He pined for the simple life he had before he looked into the back end of Doc's pickup to be pinned with those gorgeous green eyes.

"Look," Mercy lifted his eyes cautiously at Montana’s words, "We are off to a rocky start and I can't have that. Not with the work we do around here, you won't be expected to be a pampered pet." Montana sneered the word unconsciously. "We'll find what you are good at and put you to it. Dani runs the house and me." Mercy snorted and then ducked his head. Montana caught the roll of his eyes and knew it to be fear.

A piss poor start, indeed. Too proud and yet fearful as the kid should be, if any other owner, slaver or pimp gang had found him, but instead it was Montana’s land that he had stumbled upon. Mercy was now Montana’s property and his problem, and as fucked up as he was Montana took care of his own.

Which included Mercy.

Taking another steadying breath, Montana went to his own knees before the boy. Fluid and graceful, and those damned green eyes narrowed once more. He saw too much.

“I run the land, the horse business and we sell wheat as well. People need to eat.” He cocked his head to side, studying the hollows and shadows that made up Mercy’s face. Tried to envision it, healthy and smooth, resilient as youth should be, the kid had a smattering of freckles across his nose; his skin dark probably from surviving outdoors, but his natural skin tone would be pale. Lips that probably nailed the coffin shut on his life being sold out from under him if his family were too poor or too damn greedy. Mercy’s lips were plush and bow shaped, chapped and bitten at the moment but would enhance the natural beauty of green eyes and sharp cheekbones.

“Doe Eyes handles the gardens and the fruit orchard.”

Montana could see his mind working out the greater details. “We’ve been here for quite awhile. Dani and Doe Eyes’ belonged to the same master who in the end bequeathed them to me upon his death.”

He reached out to buckle the leather in place. Mercy’s went bow taught and then began to tremble, slowly at first until it was jerking spasm of muscles and arms and legs, intermingled with silent tears.

“Come on, kid,” Montana moved around until he had the boy sitting in his lap. Resisting in every move that he made, a silent fuck you or maybe fuck me, this is happening again, he wasn’t so sure. The tears still streamed in silent tracks, and chapped lips broken open under sharp teeth Mercy was brutal with trying to keep silent, trying to keep from giving in.

Montana touched him carefully, starting with the thin arms, where Mercy could see his hands. There it was the tiniest fraction of give. Then Montana stroked upward from arm to shoulder, until finally massaging touches. Montana slowly curled the boy against his shoulder, his lips pressed against sweet smelling hair. Silky like both Doe Eyes and Dani.

“I’ll figure it out. What you need,” Montana murmured, kept his touches firm when Mercy began to struggle again. “You’ll think it’s fucking with your training, fucking with your head, but it’s not. It won’t be. And it doesn’t happen overnight. Need you healthy first, need you to quit fighting with every breath you have. You’ll see that I’m not the enemy and I might just be what you need.”

Mercy snorted, but his forehead pressed into Montana’s neck. Yeah, seeking reassurance.

“Good thing your mine, we’ll have plenty of time.”

If you don’t screw this up for all of us by seeing too much and being too damned smart for your own good, Montana’s head thumped quietly against the wall. The small dull pain felt centering.

Mercy’s stomach protested loudly.

“Let’s start now, let me take care of you, kid.”

*~*

The meal was subdued; Doe Eyes kept glancing over to him only to have that gaze skip away just as quickly. Dani was frowning; no doubt plotting her own response and when it would come it would be loud, possibly with throwing things.

For now, Montana held Mercy on his lap, fed him generous helpings of cheese and broccoli and sweet tea. Mercy was stiff, uncompromising, opened his mouth mechanically and chewed slowly. No more than half his portion was gone when he turned away from the fork loaded to give him more.

Montana waited only to have him turn his head again. There was a shift in his insubstantial weight, his chin lowering instead of the pugnacious glare that Montana had been fully ready to receive. This action was something new and totally unlike Mercy sitting over his own plate, shoulders hunched to protect what was given to him, to keep it from being snatched away.

He had seen enough of that in his day. But never had he seen a slave as thin as Mercy, so much so that even his flight from his owners could have resulted in his emaciated body. That had started with his life before finding his way onto Montana’s ranch.

And having Montana feed him by hand, in light of their previous heated words

“I need to do something and I’m going to take Mercy with me.” His words were strangely loud. Doe Eyes looked worried; Dani met his gaze head on.

Mercy flinched in his lap and tried to draw in on himself.

“It’s getting late, Montana.” Dani, bless her, never could keep her damn mouth shut and Montana loved her for it.

It had been a damn long day, what with town, the Doc, Mistress Gertie, and then Mercy, and Doe Eyes. He was ready for his fucking bed and the normalcy of the wheat harvest and his horses.

“I know it is, baby girl. I need you and Doe Eyes both to be awake when we get back. Our days start early and chores don’t wait for nobody. I want to get that all sorted, where Mercy’s place will be before I head out with the boys.”

Doe Eyes was nodding his head rapidly but Dani’s eyes narrowed until she finally appeased him, “Yes, sir.”

Not master but not Montana either, shit, Dani was going to be handful before he could find his bed. And he would want the comfort of Doe Eyes to sleep finally and put the godforsaken day to rest.

With his hand firmly wrapped around Mercy’s smaller one, he tugged the boy, stumbling feet and all towards the barn.

The sun blazed a trail of orange, pink, purple and blue, finding its rest as the moon would rise to keep watch on the night

*~*

“This is Sweet Lady Jane.” His girl snorted in greeting.

Mercy’s eyes were wide with terror, Montana could see white around the vibrant green.

“Now, now,” He patted the boney shoulder wearing a shirt that belonged to Doe Eyes’ as did the faded cut offs cinched around the too thin waist. “This thing about trust, I know you think it’s a crock of shit.” Mercy blinked a couple of times and focused on Montana.

Even if his gaze kept skittering to Sweet Lady Jane warily.

“Come to think of it, by the looks of you,” Montana kept his tone easy, conversational as he saddled his mare. “You would probably think I brought you out here to break your neck despite just setting down a chunk of currency on you.” Wrapping an arm under Sweet Lady Jane’s neck, scrubbing his fingers against her mane, he regarded Mercy. “I mean you were bought for a virgin’s price but your owners did not want you remanded? What’s that got to tell you?”

Mercy’s face clouded up like a thunderstorm ready to pour.

“Now me? I take care of my own.” 

The boy flinched as Montana put his hands on Mercy’s hips. “Just relax,” He breathed against the delicate curve of ear. They were freckled too, huh. “Just gonna give you a boost up into the saddle. Then I’ll mount up behind you. Sweet Lady Jane’s trained.”

Once settled, he decided to take the short path, through the paddock to the edge of the tree line and back again. Far enough for him to say his piece and short enough that Mercy wouldn’t have a heart attack.

“See, you think I’m fucking with their heads, Doe Eyes and Dani. Getting them to voice their needs and wants, because how can a slave have them? They exist for the pleasure of the Master.” Mercy went rigid and Montana just clucked sweetly to Sweet Lady Jane. “And that’s true, hell; it’s the philosophy of most slave training houses. I should know.” 

He baited Mercy with that little tidbit and didn’t feel the least bit remorseful. It was true; he had seen many different training houses and styles. Morgan liked to visit, take a course in current training methods and view the wares. It was how he happened upon both Dani and Doe Eyes. Dani had been sold for retraining and resell, Doe Eyes for basic training to increase his virgin’s price.

“Now Doe Eyes, he’s getting better. He at least attempts to tell Dani no. He still cows down and reverts to the training mantra of his own house of study. Never ever say no.” Mercy inhaled sharply through his nose. “Ah, you’ve heard of that one too. Some masters would find that terribly boring don’t you think?” 

He pulled the reigns when Sweet Lady Jane wanted to pick up the pace. “His master, the one that died, actually had to step in to keep Doe Eyes from dying. The master liked to share and show off his property.” Montana’s jaw rippled, unseen to Mercy. “Erotic asphyxiation was always a show, you know? A signal taught when it was going too far and the slave’s life was in danger. The master’s property forfeit, not going to happen over brandy and cigars.” 

He could tell Mercy was listening, relaxing to the rhythm of Sweet Lady Jane’s steady gait. “Doe Eyes never gave the signal. He was past red and pasty white, headed toward blue when his master called a halt. And you know the funny thing? Doe Eyes was punished for not giving it. And when the master asked why? “Because a slave is not supposed to say “no.””

Back inside the cloying warmth of the stable, Montana dismounted first. Held the boy up off the ground by his armpits so that they were eye to eye, “Hell yeah, I’m teaching him to say no and that’s its okay to say it. And I want you healthy, muscle and fat, not just skin and bone. I take care of my own, kid.”

He sat Mercy on his feet gently and went through the routine of getting Sweet Lady Jane ready for the night even though she had not worked up a sweat; he brushed her down until she was nudging him out of her stall by snorting at him.

Mercy was huddled by the shadowed wall, head ducked down to his chest. There was a time to prod and there was time to wait.

Montana waited.

“You aren’t perfect until I can count every bone, Mercy,” the boy mimicked, a voice high and nasal, so unlike his own. “If you can’t follow simple commands of only partaking what is given to you, begging, ungrateful, then we’ll have to be more vigilant with how much you have.”

His face so skeletal and angry, his eyes bright, “They were fucking starving all of us, their perfect little dolls. It was either die or run.”

Montana nodded, “Good choice, not the smartest, but a choice. You wanted to live. A slave always has a choice, kid, and you made one.”

He held out a hand, “Ready to go back to the house? We need to get you lined out for the morning and we all need some fucking sleep.”

Mercy’s hand wavered slightly, hanging in the air, before sinking into Montana’s waiting grasp. Montana felt the subtle give as he led Mercy back to his house where the lights still burned brightly like a rescue beacon in the night.

*~*

Sorting out the next day turned out to be relatively easy or due to the sheer lack of exhaustion. Mercy would work in the gardens with Doe Eyes; the two younger men had come to some sort of tenuous understanding.

And it wasn’t like he could leave Mercy in the hands of Dani, not when sharp implements were readily available.

Mercy did not seem overjoyed at the prospect of outdoor work but went in the direction of his seemingly slow to establish room for rest. Dani walked up to Montana, put her pretty tanned arms around his shoulders and reminded him with a sharp nip to his ear that they would have to talk and soon.

That gentle forewarning signaled much destruction if Montana kept putting her off and her tanned ass would be on his head for her behavior. First thing in the morning, even if he to roll her out of bed himself before he left for the bunkhouse.

Mercy waited until Montana gave him leave to go to his room for the night. Still unsteady with the evenings revelations on both of their parts, Montana counted it a win. The boy still walked with a slight limp that had nothing to do with his emaciated frame. It could hardly be tearing from sexual contact due to his escape from his owners but Montana could very well be wrong. He would have to give Doc Monroe a chance to thoroughly examine Mercy.

As for payment? His stomach turned a bit. The old doctor made calf eyes at Dani and his girl never minded the attention. Rather she preened like a spoiled house pet.

Some battles were given into for the sake of the war.

He started from his ruminations when a smaller much softer hand slipped into his. Doe Eyes studied him but kept quiet, his large brown eyes always seeing too much. Montana worried that he would draw the wrong conclusions.

With a firm tug to soft brown hair, Doe Eyes exposed his throat to Montana willingly with a soft gasp.

"You need me."

There wasn't a time since Doe Eyes came along that Montana did not need the boy in what became his fucked up existence.

"You need to rest, Montana."

The one who cared too much needed care himself; he thought inanely and let Doe Eyes have his way, tugging him down the hall and into his bedroom with no resistance. Let those soft trained hands strip him efficiently. Doe Eyes only left long enough to draw a warm bath.

Sinking beneath the warm sudsy water, Montana felt the earlier lassitude of being with Mistress Gertie return. Doe Eyes had stripped the oversized shirt to draw the bath and he moved efficiently around the small room with nothing but cut off denims clinging to narrow hips.

Montana sucked in a breath and felt sweet simple desire pool low in his belly. With a wet hand, his fingers encircled Doe Eyes' thin wrist. Water dripped and the warmth of the room caused a lovely flush along the razor edge of cheekbones.

"I need you." Three words spoken hoarsely. 

Doe Eyes bit his bottom lip and nodded his head, dark hair brushing against bare shoulders. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his cut offs pushing them downward without even fumbling with the button, leaving nothing but bare tanned skin beneath. Long slender cock standing out proudly from a trembling belly, the damp head pearling with desire.

Montana's mouth dried, tongue thick with wanting to taste. Doe Eyes was every bit as graceful as his training had dictated, stepping into the tub languidly, careful of Montana's legs. He sank down into a kneel and reached for the soap and soft cloth when Montana stopped him again.

"Doe Eyes, just -" Dark eyes pinned him, knowing and fathomless and Montana stopped talking. His voice too jarring, too needy in the calm atmosphere of bathing room.

Long nimble fingers massaged as the cloth spread rich lather against his skin. Doe Eyes ended up straddling Montana's hips as he reached over shoulders to get to the breadth of his back.

With the appealing neck so close, Montana nuzzled along the band of possession before chewing softly at skin and the delicate curve of ear.

Doe Eyes huffed and turned into him slightly, a tell that Montana’s touch was ticklish and Montana loved it even more. Because it was real, it was Doe Eyes, not the pet, not the slave, but the achingly beautiful sitting astride his hips, sitting back to lift Montana’s arms to wash into his pits and down his side.

So fucking gorgeous.

Darker soul deep whispering of Mine

“Gods, Doe, fuck…” He clamped his hands onto boney spurs of hip and thrust his cock against one nestled against his own. Water danced madly, lapping and sloshing against the sides of the tub. The kiss was more brutal, tongues and teeth and languid warmth turned to hot desperation.

Doe Eyes went completely pliant in Montana’s hands, submissive and giving into the bite of teeth and scratches against skin of want and desperation. Heedless of the water and the mess it would make, Montana stood, slipping as he got out of the tub. Much more careful with Doe Eyes when he was lifted into Montana’s arms, slender strong thighs wrapping about his hips, cocks once again snug and hungry against each other.

His boy went obediently onto his belly, lifting his ass on display when Montana put him on the bed. It was not what he wanted. He wanted to see that gorgeous mouth part and eyes so dark already go black with need.

He pushed at Doe Eyes who turned back on his back, confusion on his face that flickered out and smoothed when Montana found the lubricant at the ready on the bedside table. Slick thick fingers pressing inward to well used muscle that gave away with just a hint of resistance, Doe Eyes sucked a sharp breath.

Montana checked him, only to see the red flush on his cheeks and lip bitten into to keep quiet.

“I want to hear you, Doe,” I need to hear you.

Warm heat and Doe Eyes wrapping him in silken limbs as Montana tumbled, into need, into rut, into the pliant body that gave over and over to the slap of his hips. Doe Eyes was on edge, the panting sounds of his moans, his hands clamped onto Montana’s biceps to keep in control.

It was enough. Montana pulled out and used his hand to stripe his cock efficiently, coating Doe Eyes stiff cock and balls with his thick seed. Doe Eyes’ limbs spasmed and flailed, eyes widening with shock and quickly banked hurt as Montana laid down tiredly next to him.

He thought I would not take care of him, even for a moment, Montana thought grimly. His own sated feeling wilted a bit. Some lessons were entrenched in stone.

With careful hands, he moved Doe Eyes until the boy’s knees where at his head. With gentle pressure, Doe Eyes splayed out over his body, the slender cock just where he needed it to be to suck it into his mouth. Doe Eyes groaned and curled into him, hands fisted by Montana’s thighs, his cheek resting on hip. His warm breath ghosted over Montana’s spent cock and heavy balls.

Time stood still, all focus on wringing pleasure by rippling tongue, sucking lips, and nudging Doe Eyes to thrust into his throat. The scent was heady, of musk, of his own seed, the boy dripping heavily. Deft fingers teased the tight sac, and then dipped deep with the soft slick opening to touch just there.

Montana held him by his hips as Doe Eyes came helpless. He eased the boy over onto his side to clean his cock and balls with his tongue, leaving only the taste of Doe Eyes behind.

Ignoring uncomfortably damp sheets and cooling sweat, Montana pulled Doe Eyes unresisting into his arms. In the moonlight, he tipped Doe Eyes’ chin so that he could kiss him, hand petting over long dark tangle hair.

“I need you, Doe Eyes, you are mine.”

And I take care of my own.

Doe Eyes smiled wanly, a little uncertain but not unexpected. It squeezed Montana’s heart painfully every time. The boy nodded and made a move to leave the bed. Montana held on tighter.

“You are tired,” He repeated the Doe Eyes’ earlier words. Sweet lips twitched sleepily. “Stay with me.”

He figured Doe Eyes would take it as a command. Limbs obediently going slack, arms curled around Montana. Another battle for another day, he needed Doe Eyes like air and let himself find sleep with the warm weight of his body against him.

*~*


End file.
